


in starlit nights i saw you

by ozymandiasinvelvet



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Depression, F/M, Grieving, M/M, Minor Character Death, New Jersey, Suicide Attempt, honestly frank just being a good guy, my chemical romance - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-08-06 03:24:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16380479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ozymandiasinvelvet/pseuds/ozymandiasinvelvet
Summary: a ficlet in which gerard, reeling after the death of his wife meets frank, a stranger on a bridge.





	in starlit nights i saw you

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, 
> 
> As a warning, this ficlet deals with the idea of suicide and an unsuccessful suicide attempt.
> 
> If you are uncomfortable with this topic or feel like this may trigger you, I urge you not to read this.
> 
> That being said, this ficlet does not contain a suicide even though there is a death that occurs in it. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!

She died a year ago and somehow the world has the audacity to move on. To pretend she never even made a murmur, never laughed, never kissed. I tried to do what all the other normal people did, I gave away her clothes, went to therapy, said goodbye. I held her casket high on my shoulder and didn’t let out a single sob until after I had made it into our car. 

I’ll never forget the day her mother came to our house and handed over a box of her things, tears welled in her brown eyes, the same eyes he looked in everyday. It hurt too much to look at apparently, she shoved it in my arms and whispered a phantom of a farewell. I stared at it all night, trying to decide what I was gonna do with it and well, now it sits in a corner of our room, collecting dust and losing her touch. 

I haven’t changed the sheets yet, I know it’s gross and to go a whole year without changing them should be disgusting, it’s fine because I don’t sleep there anymore.

I sleep on the couch, away from the gilded memories that seem to lose their shine daily. I haven’t seen the sunlight in three weeks. Dad came by and says that B misses me, he was scared that I had died too. And he might be on the right path, tonight might be the night where I join her forever. 

It hurts too much to breathe, to roll off the couch after being so hungover from polishing off the bottle, to clean up B’s toys. My life has been frozen for a whole year and I miss her more everyday. 

So now I’m sitting, looking out at the long twisted limbs of trees stretching out into the oblivion of night. I know the bridge well, a sad, craggy thing. My brother and I would play on it, trolls and knights and whatever else a little boy’s mind would conjure up. It was where royalty met as I asked her to be my princess for once and all. It was ten days after graduation, she was missing half an eyebrow and her fingers were blue from pulling the fire alarm.

And yet, when she looked up and grinned, shouting, “Yes! Of course!” She had become the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, 8 months pregnant and all.

Now, I drive to an empty place where the kids won’t play. They’re too scared of the mean old drunk who cries there every once in a while. I would be terrified too if I had seen myself, all red faced and snot seeping out of my nose, a goddamn monster if I say so myself.

I get out of the white car and head forwards, with the only light illuminating the bridge being the cherry at the end of my cigarette. The familiar weight of the heavy rope tugs at my arm and I hum silently to myself, getting to work on the knot I have come to know so well.

All was silent, only the coo of an owl and the hiss of the cigarette as I stub it out, disturbing the peace until I heard someone clear their throat.

“Y’know, the school kids play here in the morning before they get to school.” Said an unknown voice.

My head shoots up in surprise and I try to pinpoint the sound to no avail.

“What?” I ask dumbly.

“I said, it’s best not to scar the kindergarteners with some dead guy’s body.” Said the voice yet again, sounding anxious and cautious.

“You-“ I started, looking for words until I turned around to see a short man leaning against the bridge. A car zooms past, highlighting his face with scarlet light, a sharp nose and a lip ring is revealed briefly. 

“Listen, what do I know? In fact, you’ve probably had it pretty shit to think that here’s the best place to kick the bucket and I don’t judge you. But before you do anything, can you light my ciggy?” The man replied calmly, using the same voice a person would use to calm a scared kitten.

“I- uh… sure?” I fumble for my trusty Zippo, the blue one with all the scratches from the house keys. My hands are shaking, twitching with adrenaline, I almost drop it into a murky puddle when I manage to fish it out of my pocket. 

I get closer to the man to light the cigarette, a spark shows a frown in the guy’s lip, a street lamp comes to life weakly giving out a warm light.

He takes a drag and exhales deeply. 

“So. I’m Frank.” He holds his hand out, his fingernails are painted black. 

I take it, but I can’t help but want to inch over to the edge. To resume his itinerary of the night.

“Gerard.” I say curtly, trying not to engage the man anymore.

He sees my eyes flicker to the rope and before I can even comprehend what’s happening, he’s throwing the rope off the bridge into the obscured wilderness below.

I yell, upset and confused as Frank, now listed as asshole #1 in his mind, turns around to face me. 

“What the fuck, man!” I emphasise with anger and confusion.

“I can’t let you kill yourself, dude. I can’t leave this bridge thinking you’re going to commit suicide the moment I turn around. I see it in your eyes, clear as day. I’ve seen it in the mirror a couple of times and I’ve seen it in the eyes of people I’ve loved. I don’t care who you are, what your sins are, why you wanna die. I just can’t let you do this.” He says, not looking away for a single moment from my gaze. He dares to inch closer when I explode.

“You don’t know me! You don’t need to save me or pretend it’s your good deed for the day! Who the fuck are you to decide what I will or won’t do! I can’t live another day like this!” I shout into his face, my chest is heaving with fury. For a moment I regret it, as Frank regards me.

“I’m not doing this for myself. I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing it for my father, my uncle, my best friend Tony, that girl I always said hi to in the library but never thought to ask how she was. They did what you’re about to do and you know what? I miss them all every single day, from my dad’s voice to the way that girl would smile to me and wave every single day. Someone is gonna miss you for the rest of their lives, you’re gonna hurt someone so bad they’ll never recover. At least not all the way. You’d be killing them with yourself.” He says and I don’t know how but I end up in a hug, a semi-awkward one. He’s very short, but the hug is fierce and angry. I let myself be hugged.

I want to cry, I want to let out those tears I refused to let fall during his funeral, the tears I held in when they asked me when the wedding was, all of the tears I wasn’t allowed to let free. 

I never cried in my therapist’s office, it was too pristine to mess up. Too good for his tears and boogers, for the fresh blood from his wounds to seep through.

“I’m really s-sorry” I cried into his thick, black sweater.

I felt his hand rub my back, the fingers working through the knotted muscles in the small of it. 

“You don’t have to be sorry about anything, least of all crying, for fuck’s sake.” The guy whispered to him.

“Sit down, I can’t let you leave like this.” He said again and I slid to the floor, leaning my back against the rails of the bridge.

I take out another cigarette, lighting it quickly. For what seemed like a long time, the sound of the Zippo flicking was the only thing in the air. It was relaxing, the sound of our breathing, mine evening out slowly.

As I finished the cigarette, I rake my hands through my dark hair, gripping it a little bit. 

I turn my head towards him, he’s pretty in an unexpected way, a rounded nose with a piercing to match the lip piercing, hazel eyes and a suitably punk hairdo. He sorta looks like the kind of guy who’d buy a homeless guy a cup of coffee with the last few bills for the month. 

“I proposed to my fiancé on this bridge, a few years ago.” I say, looking out at nothing, expecting to see the figures of two raven-haired boys to be sitting on the railing, holding each other’s hands. 

“Yeah? What happened?” Frank said, looking like he was stepping around bombshells.

“She uh- she passed away last year. A car crash.” I wince, as if Frank had sucker punched me in the jaw.

“I’m really sorry for your loss, the roads get pretty slippery around this time of year.” He says, trailing off, trying to comfort him.

“Thanks. They do, don’t they? Though it was pretty clear that night.” I finish bitterly, seeing the road out ahead of them, Lyn-z was pretty fucking mad at me going to one of Mikey’s crazy parties with all the drugs and booze but after the last fight over her spending too much again and B, I remember being so pissed at her, looking over at her with hatred in my eyes, nearly rocking out of my seat from the drugs but then suddenly-

“My dad died about a year ago too, they found him a week later. I can’t live in that house anymore, it’s just too heavy, y’know? The walls feel like they’re breathing down my neck” He explains, moving his hands to guard the light from the wind.

“I get that. I haven’t changed our sheets in a year.” I mention to him, although Frank looks over kinda grossed out.

“Ew, dude. You’ve been sleeping in dirty sheets for a whole ass year? I get the whole sentimental thing, but that’s just straight up grody.” He remarks and for a moment I feel upset, shocked Frank would say such a thing but then I laugh.

I giggled a high, little girl giggle and then clapped my hands over my mouth. A little bit shocked, I respond, “I guess so. Although I don’t actually sleep in my bed anymore.”

“You’ve been sleeping on a couch the whole year? Please tell me where you bought that thing, mine is literally a medieval torture contraption. It’s somehow not long enough for me and not wide enough without falling on the floor.” He says exasperated.

“Is that possible for such a short guy?” I send back to him, seeing it click in Frank’s head.

“Hey! I’m fun sized, not IKEA madness sized.” He says, shoving his shoulder lightly.

The feeling around them is light and airy, unlike the past few months. Everyone treats me more like a ticking time bomb, ready to explode in an implosion of self destruction, than an actual human being sometimes.

“Thanks for making me laugh. It’s been a while.” I say to him honestly.

“No biggie. I know how important it is to really laugh sometimes. When my uncle died, I was like 12, I remember being devastated. I cried pretty much everyday, because him and I really got each other. My dad and him were really close too, best friends really. They even had a band in college, I digress, but one day when I was sobbing my eyes out, I just started laughing my ass off.” He paused.

“Why did you start laughing?” I asked, curious.

“Oh, well I remembered the time he fell on his ass while we went ice skating, or the other time where his wife had found him eating 10 pack of Twinkies after swearing on a diet, then almost suffocating on 3 of them as she tried to pry them away from him. Or the way he laughed because it sounded like he was choking on a pickle and being poked with a cow prod at the same time. I guess I just remembered the amazing things about the person I was mourning and the moments he gave me, not the idea of his body in grave. He lives on with me, in my heart and on my arm.” He reveals on his forearm, a portrait of a man grinning with all his teeth. 

I felt warm, like the cold from the wind didn’t even matter. I remembered how Lyn-Z would rub my back after a hard day, how we’d given up painting the bathroom and instead sat in the tub, drinking warm beer, wiping off sweat from our brows. With the sound of B singing along cheerily with the TV from the living room.

“You’re right, but how are you so upbeat about everything?” I asked, genuinely intrigued.

“It’s not that I’m upbeat; it’s just that instead of hoping that my dad and uncle will come through the door one day, I know that wherever they are, they’re in less pain. It’s all I can really hope for anyway.” He responds, a little less chipper, somber even. 

“ I hope so too, I mean I’m not religious or anything, but I really hope they’ve found peace. And yeah that happens to me a lot. I’ll be cooking dinner one night, with the plates and everything set up, then I’ll realise she’s not coming back, that they’re not coming home. Then I have to either eat everything or give it to the old lady next door. It’s like a kick in the face every once in a while.” I explain to him.

“Thank you. Well at least you’re giving food to the elderly, I guess… and yeah, I know how that feels.” He says quietly.

They sit there for a while, watching as tangerines and soft pinks begin to emerge and merge. It’s beautiful, especially as the crisp white of the snowy treetops reflect the winter light.

“Hey. I’ve got to be going to work soon, this was really nice.” I say, then I wait a beat, “Thanks for stopping me.”

“Of course. Hey, why don’t I give you my phone number? Call me if you ever wanna talk like this again, or tell me about your fiancé.” Frank says, sucking his lip ring lightly. A ghost of a smile creeps out, like a bear after a long sleep. 

“Sure, dude. Anytime.” I respond with a smile, handing over my shitty, scuffed up phone. As he types his number, he looks out at the sunrise. He can hear the sound of springy giggles and small, pattering feet from the distance. 

I hug Frank hard, pressing a weak smile into his vest.

As I walk back to my car, I walk a little straighter. I work up something that might resemble a grin as I wave at Frank, who seems to be talking to a large group of children. He waves back, with a twinkle in his round, hazel eyes. 

I know, as I sit in my car and drive back to Newark, calling my mom to see about B.


End file.
